


hey he's hot

by binarylarry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Bars and Pubs, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarylarry/pseuds/binarylarry
Summary: uni student akaashi works part time with kuroo at suga and daichi's adult store. akaashi can't resist bokuto the beef baby koutarou's thighs in lingerie despite being on the clock. kuroo hooks up with a certain blonde bartender and pursues a not-so-mysterious missed call.





	1. hopeless romantic or ethical slut? the mystery of kuroo tetsuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm such a slow writer!! i think posting the first chapter of an in-progress multi-fic will motivate me. one of my 2018 resolutions are to post at least 3 times next year and i am a determined bean! 
> 
> this first chapter is definitely going to be a little tame but hopefully still induces like the overwhelming feeling to smile on public transit. dick pics and daddy kinks occur, but following chapters are going to include genuine explicit smut. 
> 
> thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

Minding the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, Akaashi Keiji exits the bus into the snowy street with a brief "thanks" to the driver. He digs for keys during the short walk to work as the snow frosts his hair. Saying a silent goodbye to the December sun, he slips into the staff entrance of Viktor's Secret. Eyes adjusting to florescent hell, he unpockets his phone, scrolling through his notifications. Seven minutes to spare on shitty work wi-fi. Unsurprisingly, most of his messages are from Bokuto-san.

Bokuto-san: hey hey hey how's work

Akaashi: hell

After depositing his belongings into his locker, he opens up a series of snaps in quick succession. They depict dogs #1 through #8 with accompanying time stamps. Akaashi changes into his uniform long sleeve, reading "I can keep a secret" across the back. He straps a watch onto his wrist with the minutes ticking by. Akaashi sends back a blurry snap of himself with the dog filter, no caption. Enough to keep Bokuto's fragile heart intact, but not enough to be late. As he presses send, his phone pings with another text.

Bokuto-san: wish you were here ;)

Akaashi: wish i was anywhere but here

Playing between platforms, Bokuto screenshots Akaashi's selfie. He rolls his eyes at the notification and switches back to Snapchat - there's still five minutes left after all. Refreshing agonizingly slowly, the snap loads. Expecting dog #9, Akaashi doesn't hesitate. The caption reads "i like it ruff." Realizing he has opened a dick pic - albeit a dick pic with an artfully placed bone emoji - in his place of work, he locks his phone, hurriedly glancing at the staff door even though he knows he's alone.

Immediate regret.

But by the time he unlocks his phone the ten seconds have timed out. It feels desperate to replay it for the...emotion Bokuto-san's thighs can evoke.

Another text.

Bokuto-san: maybe i can make things interesting for you

Bokuto-san: when do u get off??

Sighing at the unfortunate innuendo and more unfortunate timing, Akaashi: 8

Bokuto-san: i don't think i can wait that long

Akaashi powers down his phone, locks up - it's noon. Ensuring the exterior door is locked, Akaashi enters the store via the inner staff door. Locking up and slipping the lanyard under his shirt he thinks: __  
_Bokuto-san can wait._  


Oh, who was he kidding? Bo didn't have a patient bone in his body. Well, he did have - 

Having been hired in September, Akaashi had since become familiar on the floor. Viktor's Secret has a purposeful visual aesthetic with an all-black dress code and bright, white displays for the vibrantly coloured merchandise. Toys line entire walls in deliberately odd geometric shelving sunk into the walls - well lit and interspersed with cubbies of lube. A book nook is tucked into a corner of the store with an invitingly plush red-lipped couch with an accompanying rainbow shag rug underneath. However, the majority of the floor space is devoted to lingerie with harnesses supplying the smooth transition from dildo displays to delicates.

Most things most people could possibly want for the bedroom could probably be found in Viktor's Secret.

Mostly, Akaashi wanted a paycheque. Tuition isn't cheap. Living with impulsive Bokuto-san definitely isn't cheap.

As Akaashi approaches the cash register, Kuroo says, "One minute late, Akaashi. I should punish you." Akaashi puts his hands out in mock resignation over the counter. Kuroo laughs. "So, what's your safe word, stud?"

"Fuck off," Akaashi deadpans, slotting into the space by Kuroo behind the counter.

"How original."

Akaashi pens in his hours on the time sheet. Noticing Kuroo's are blank, he fills them in on his behalf before tucking the clipboard back into its cubby. Figures he forgets to put his hours in but basically has all the merchandise specifications memorized. Approachable knowledge paired with his looks and Kuroo's sales smashing record makes perfect sense. It can't hurt that he's personally passionate about the products.

In the months since Akaashi started part-timing to pay for post-secondary, he has become comfortable with the ins and outs of casual sex positivity. But other than the owner-operators, Sugawara and Daichi, there's nobody who can rival the ease with which Kuroo Tetsurou can recommend a sex toy. 

"I filled in your hours for you," Akaashi says to fill the store space in the absence of customers.

"Speaking of filling, last night I-" Kuroo cuts off what is undoubtedly his latest sexcapade at the appearance of a potential patron. Alerted by the jingling door, Kuroo flashes a charming grin, greeting the customer with all the charisma of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Which he basically is.

Well, judging by the customer's ensuing enthusiasm, preferably no clothing.

Glancing around the store, Akaashi takes mental stock of things to do. Unlike other retail jobs he's worked, he actually respects his bosses and genuinely wants to work hard to support their business. Opting to ensure the lingerie is in size order, he leaves the cash counter uncrowded for Kuroo's impending sale.

Even from a distance, Akaashi knows Kuroo's already made the sale. He expertly navigates the customer through the store with effortless conversation. A perfect balance of flirtatious and professional. Kuroo quickly leaves them satisfied and smiling to look at the displays solo. Out of their eyeline, Kuroo winks at Akaashi while hovering nearby to finish the sale.

Due to Daichi and Sugawara's undying pursuit of sex positivity, all products are intentionally gender nonspecific. Sex toys are branded according to stimulation and shape, not assumed corresponding biology. Similarly, Viktor's Secret carries gender-neutral garments which add masculinity to lingerie and subtract stigma.

Explaining their intentions, Daichi had said, "Who doesn't want to feel sexy sometimes?"

To which, Sugawara added, "Or all the time?" whilst eyeing his husband.

Akaashi had averted his eyes, but had come to very much agree. Not that that budding feminist philosophy made the act of essentially organizing underwear inspirational.

After Kuroo rings up his customer with their new goodies, he joins Akaashi by the racks and resumes his story.

"So last night I met this hot blonde bartender. Total asshole. I love him," Kuroo says, unabashed and fingering through silk.

"By 'met' do you mean...?"

"Of course I do."

"Hopeless romantic or ethical slut? The mystery of Kuroo Tetsurou," Akaashi says as they cycle through the racks in tandem.

"Not mutually exclusive," Kuroo says. "He works at that club I took you to that one time, remember?"

"The one you got a little too drunk dancing at and started stripping on top of the tables?"

"No, the other one. The one with drag Fridays."

"Right. That one."

"I always befriend the bartender so they notice me when it gets busy. But let me tell you, I really noticed this one."

"Didn't you say he was an asshole?"

"Absolutely. It was really hot. He had this minimal non-smiling politeness. He kept having to push up his glasses in a way that made me want to bang them off."

"As you do."

"As we did."

"Surely not in the bar, Kuroo."

"Kids these days. They don't even want to be down with other people getting down at work."

"Please. You're a year older than me and obviously not."

"I will have you know he let me take him home after his shift and we made sweet, sweet love."

At this, Akaashi rolled his eyes behind closed lids, saying, "I'm glad I'm not your neighbour."

"Akaashi, are you slut-shaming me?"

"Kuroo, you self identify as a slut. I'm sympathetic to your neighbours."

"Don't worry. I bake them cookies, and besides, everybody loves me. I'm always that nice."

Akaashi actually couldn't argue with that.

"He called me 'daddy'," Kuroo continues wistfully. "I came."

Akaashi blinks and walks away.

"Too much?"

"Too much."

"Noted."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holigays!
> 
> i feel so much fic potential in my fingertips. will tsukki and kuroo's one night stand pan out? or will kuroo hook up with someone else? will we get back story on the intersect of suga and dai's blossoming love and business? what is akaashi even paying tuition to study? 
> 
> as always, hmu @babynerdburger on tumblr


	2. proximity and public space who? the boisterious inevitability that is bokuto koutarou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuroo gets a coffee and an unknown caller. akaashi sets up a changeroom for his roommate. this little au gets some love and it's a fun time. 
> 
> thanks for reading and if you feel so inclined, comment and let me know if it's actually a fun time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh all this world-building is surprising considering i originally imagined this as a pwp. buckle up babes, it's time to take a sip of whatever this is 
> 
> next chp is definitely, definitely akaashi getting down w getting down at work but consider this adorable build up and mild angst and kurotsuki subplot first tho 
> 
> and don't worry, i have actual plot lines for kuroo and tsukki too (they're still growing but i'm getting there i promise)

As the shift progresses, Akaashi further proves his theory that at Viktor's Secret there are five primary types of patrons.

Easily recognizable are the nervous ones. They fidget and fiddle and experience difficulty expressing their desire to diddle. It's best to offer them complimentary tea or water, so they have something to do with their hands, and then back off. Like a deer in R-rated headlights, they spook easily. Perhaps they're young or closeted or subscribe to gendered values of virginity. Either way they're nervous as hell despite the fact that they clearly want something the store offers.

Conversely, the pervert category includes an array of uncomfortable folks who make Akaashi's skin crawl. It's his job to be friendly in order to hit sales, but Daichi promotes an explicit policy of the right to refuse service.

"There are no blurred lines when it comes to sexual harassment," Sugawara said plainly, to which Daichi nodded seriously.

Then there's the people who want to spice up a party, especially pepped-up bachelorettes. Seeking razzle dazzle, they usually purchase an assortment of Fifty Shades of Grey inspired products like velvety handcuffs, phallic candy, or flavoured condoms. Akaashi prefers to direct them to the appropriate display, suffer a smile, and ring them up and out as painlessly as possible

Often, couples come in to rekindle their sexual spark. Arguing sex equates love is arguably founded on a flawed assumption, but sexual intimacy empirically does bolster a relationship. Those still in puppy-like infatuation are the type to make adventurous, often impractical, purchases in the name of love. Simply giddily glancing at each other evokes a spark for these horny lovebirds. It's that certain kind of sweetness that is satisfying to encourage. Although, for those shopping for someone else solo, Akaashi suggests a gift card.

However, Akaashi's favourite type of customers are the sex geek enthusiasts. These are the ones that are seeking to expand their collection and are already familiar with the specifications. They don't need hand holding - they're hands-on buyers, reaching for another bottle of lube or a toy to rival their Hitachi Magic Wand. At first, this sprawling sex positivity intimidated Akaashi. He didn't feel equipped to field their in-depth questions and queries, but now he's more experienced and secretly enjoys access to such sexually diverse demographics. 

All in all, it's not a bad job.

 

*

 

"You good if I take my break?" Kuroo asks, to which Akaashi glances at his watch and nods. What a quiet curiosity. Kuroo tries to elicit any emotion out of Akaashi as often as possible. He's such a private person it's significant when he smiles. "Back in thirty."

In the staff room, Kuroo shrugs into a leather jacket. Cool but cold. He snakes a scarf around his neck and pats his pockets to ensure his phone, wallet, and keys are present. With that, he braves the bright outdoors. The air is dry, the wind whipping his breath from his lungs. All he has to do is cross the street, but it feels like discovering Antarctica.

Needless to say, Kuroo prefers the summer sun.

In the café, his destination across the street, a rush of instant heat and a smile from the staff greets Kuroo. Ambling through the cushy sofas and cozy armchairs, he approaches the counter. Not bothering to look a the menu he's long since memorized, he's ready to order - and besides, all he wants is a black coffee.

Well, all he can afford.

"Let me guess," the freckled barista says before Kuroo can speak. "Black coffee?"

"Yamaguchi, how do you know me so well?" Kuroo says.

"Us broke students share a kindred bond," Yamaguchi says.

"Not too broke to tip," Kuroo says, slotting a couple quarters in the tip jar.

"And you order that every Saturday," Yamaguchi says, accepting Kuroo's remaining coins for the coffee.

"I do," Kuroo says, following Yamaguchi parallel to the pick-up counter. "And you're here every Saturday."

"That I am," Yamaguchi says, simultaneously making the coffee with quick, practiced movements before handing it to Kuroo over the counter. "And with that," he says, untying his apron, "I'm on break."

"Enjoy."

Kuroo settles into his usual spot, a grandmotherly floral armchair facing the window. Natural light is a blessing in contrast to the black out windows needed to hide Viktor's secrets. Sipping his steaming coffee and letting the bitterness bathe his soul, Kuroo unlocks his phone. Automatically connecting to the café wi-fi, Kuroo's phone pings with incoming messages.

An e-mail for an on-campus event. A comment on an Instagram photo. A rare Snapchat of Kenma doing their dishes. But unusually, a missed call from an unknown number, no voicemail. Recognizing it as a local number, he calls it.

He sets his mug down as it rings. His call goes right to voicemail.

"Tsukishima. Leave a message."

_Tsukishima?_

"Hey, mind if I join?" Yamaguichi says, sitting in the armchair across from him, causing Kuroo to completely forget about the call. "I just saw my weirdo friend come in and suddenly decide to leave. We were supposed to meet up."

"Jerk," Kuroo says, then widely gestures. "By all means."

"I wonder what made him leave?" Yamaguchi says, almost to himself as he unzips his jacket.

"Who knows?" Kuroo says over his coffee.

"Not the weirdest thing I've seen today," Yamaguchi says and then continues on with a list of oddities customers have subjected him to. Which Kuroo counters with stories of overshared fetishes, misunderstandings of return policies, and outright sexual harassment.

The two are soon laughing uncontrollably about the excesses of capitalism, their coffee cups empty and their breaks over. It's not until Kuroo is powering down his phone once again in the staff room that it hits him.

_OH._

_The bartender._

 

*

 

When Akaashi summits the halfway point of his shift, the remaining hours begin to trickle after his break. It's been steady. It's not that. But Bokuto-san has risen in Akaashi's brain like an impossible unscratchable itch. His gaze twitches to watch his watch as the hands crawl around the clock.

_Bokuto-san: i don't think i can wait that long_

He slips into the staff room, but hesitates with his phone in his hands, thinking of Daichi and Sugawara. Not that they would necessarily disapprove, but his loyalty is guilt inducing. He hastily rejoins Kuroo on the floor.

Kuroo's finishing up with a customer at the counter, so Akaashi wanders into the book nook near a browser and begins reorganizing. Keeping up with his academic texts causes wicked ocular migraines, which largely take the pleasure out of reading. Though trailing a finger down the title of a book is reminiscent of looking longingly at a lover.

He pulls Emily Nagoski's _Come as You Are_ off of the shelf and feels the weight of the book in his hands. The spine uncracked, the words unread. This particular pick has been on his to read list for a while, but it never seems to be the right time. Kuroo, who has already read it, says the right time is always as soon as possible, if not now.

Akaashi slips the book back onto the shelf, noticing that the browser has stilled, lingering with a book in their hands. Skimming the inside jacket, checking the price. Then, with a small nod of resolution, they look up from decidedly their book and seem to suddenly realize they're still inside the store. When they head for the cash, Akaashi shadows them. During check out, the customer doesn't make eye contact, so Akaashi respectfully keeps the chit chat minimal and wishes them a good one. How many times does he say, "Have a good one" in a single shift?

"Have a good one?" Akaashi repeats quietly after the customer is out of earshot. Sounds foreign on his tongue.

His watch reads 4:45.

Only 4:45.

The bell jingles - another customer coming in along with the cold air.

4:46.

"Hey he's hot," Kuroo says with arching eyebrows before going in for the greet.

Akaashi's eyes flit up, curious because Kuroo's type is infamously inconsistent.

Strong shoulders and a familiar beefy silhouette. It's Bokuto-san. Akaashi doesn't understand why he finds this so unbelievable. Is Bo having a good day? He stands stunned as Bokuto's scan of the store is abruptly cut by Kuroo's eye contact.

"Hey there, how's it going?" Kuroo says, as he's said to everyone all day. How real of a person are you really in retail? Kuroo is friendly all the time, but Akaashi finds obligatory small talk incredibly unnatural.

"Good, good. How are you?" Bokuto says.

"Great, can I help you with anything?" Kuroo squares his body to Bokuto, who unconsciously basks in the undivided attention. Enough to distract him from his initial purpose of probably finding Akaashi - he would remember he works here, surely?

"Yeah, actually, I'm looking for a present." Bokuto has this way of instantly bonding with strangers, which is another concept entirely foreign to Akaashi.

"All right, what kind of gift are we into?"

"Lingerie. I want to be the present." On a good day, Bokuto is impervious to embarrassment. His forwardness has Kuroo cracking a genuine grin at Bokuto's sheer boldness. An enthusiast: the type five that keeps Kuroo alive.

“Perfect. A gift that keeps giving. I’ll show you what we have,” Kuroo says as he directs his customer towards the delicates. “Any particular style you like?”

“I like this,” Bokuto says, grabbing the nearest garment: a pair of black high waisted panties with sheer cut outs up the hip. Akaashi’s lips involuntarily part.

Akaashi size ordered those absently hours ago and now here was Bokuto with his strong hands on the hanger. His fingers rub the material, certain in his soft admiration. Akaashi watches from the counter as Bokuto’s gaze wanders to an adjacent rack and his eyes light up.

“What is this?” Bokuto asks in amazement with Akaashi forgotten in his periphery. Akin to a kid in a candy store is Bokuto discovering Viktor’s secrets.

“That would be a garter belt. It’s used to hold up stockings, like these,” Kuroo answers, already with matching thigh highs in hand, “if you want legs for days. Which I recommend. Although, with the advent of elastic, more of an aesthetic choice.”

 _More of an ass-thetic choice_ , Akaashi thinks.

“Hey! Akaashi, what do you think?” Bokuto calls, catching his eye. Kuroo follows his eyeline, connecting the dots between their contact. Akaashi steps down from the counter. Bokuto’s attention is a boomerang that eventually comes home to Akaashi.

“Why haven’t we been introduced yet, Akaashi?” Kuroo says.

“I’ve never met this man before in my life,” Akaashi deadpans.

“So mean!” Bokuto says, clutching the clothing to his chest. If underwear could be considered clothing. Akaashi becomes aware of the pulse in his neck as he considers it as hypothetically Bokuto’s clothing.

“Kuroo, this is my roommate,” Akaashi says.

“Akaashi, I’m hurt,” Bokuto says, pouting.

“Can I set up a changeroom for you?” Akaashi says, extending his hand into which Bokuto could place his three items. As per policy: a purchaser’s hands should be free. Definitely not because Bokuto should be in these as soon as humanely possible. Strictly professional. And shortly thereafter at the counter. All business. Bending him over the -

Bokuto hands him two, then holding up the panties to his pelvis, playfully says, “What do you think?”

Akaashi swallows.

“Yeah, what do you think…roommate?” Kuroo says, stepping back and eyeing the two of them.

“I think our changerooms are this way, if you’ll follow me,” Akaashi says, gesturing for the third item, which Bokuto hands him.

“So, you want me to undress,” Bokuto says, conceding to follow.

“Yes, that’s how this usually works when trying things on.”

Kuroo stifles a laugh, but can’t suppress a smile. Taking the hint, he busies himself elsewhere as it appears this sale had sailed.

 

*

 

Once Akaashi has set up Bokuto in a changeroom, he hovers. Unusually, Bokuto is quiet. He waits for the boisterous inevitability that is Bokuto Koutarou.

Another customer comes up to him and asks him if a particular cock ring is dishwasher safe. In September, his ears would have gone red, but now he doesn’t blink. He simply shows the customer his dishwasher safe options, makes the sale, smiles. It isn’t hard anymore.

It has been a few minutes since Bokuto-san began and still no commentary, no seeking reassurance. What would make fitting into lingerie hard? Oh.

Hard.

_Fuck._

“Your roommate is pretty hot don’t you think?” Kuroo says with uncanny timing.

Wary of proximity and public space, Akaashi says neutrally, “Do you think so?”

“Don’t you?” Akaashi maintains a blank face, but breaks eye contact. “Thought so.”

“Kuroo…”

“Am I too close to unravelling a single thread of the mystery knot of Akaashi Keiji?” Akaashi wonders how Kuroo has such elegant muscle control over eyebrow expressions. “Does your roommate have a name?”

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi’s ears tinge pink.

“I see.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto calls from the changeroom, inconsiderate of both proximity and public space.

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, relieved to part from Kuroo’s prying. Near the changerooms he can breathe again.

Bo peeks out from the curtains with his golden eyes, jeans haphazardly thrown over the rod.

“I need your opinion,” Bokuto says once Akaashi is in sight. He throws open the curtains dramatically to reveal himself. Akaashi’s eyes widen. Bo is topless, barring his puffy nips proudly, nearly preening. His hands rest on his hips, firmly over the sheer cut-outs. The silhouette is astounding. Shapely. The voluptuous V-shape of the pants accentuate his thick thighs. Who needs to breathe? Not Akaashi. He responds by placing a hand on Bo’s bare chest to press him back into the changeroom. Akaashi wants to see Bokuto like this privately. Is it second-hand embarrassment or something else? As Akaashi turns to close the curtains behind them, regrettably breaking physical contact, Bokuto asks, “Am I beautiful?”

“Breathtaking,” Akaashi answers directly, now facing Bokuto.

“I bet you can’t even imagine how good this is going to look when you help me with these things,” Bokuto says, pinching the tiny garter clips between his fingers. “Can’t figure it out.”

“Start with the stockings,” Akaashi says, carefully instructing. The changeroom’s intended capacity is one. Akaashi is standing so close to Bokuto he can feel the radiating warmth of his skin. The mirrors mean Akaashi is looking at Bokuto from all angles. It’s hard to remember he’s at work. Hard.

Bokuto sits in the red chair in the corner of the changeroom. He does as he’s told. The stockings soar thigh high one at a time, Bo’s hands gliding up his long legs, soft concentration in the set of his brow. To reach full height, he smooths out the stockings. Akaashi restrains himself from staring at the bulge between Bokuto’s spread legs by resting his gaze at the skin between where the stocking ends and the pants begin. Compromise.  

“Which way up?” Bokuto says, bluntly holding up the garter belt.

“Like this,” Akaashi says, straightening it out. Bokuto shimmies into the garter belt. Akaashi kneels down and, looking up at Bokuto, connects the garter to the stockings. Stunning. Bokuto stands. Akaashi stays, eyes traveling up his mile-long legs.

“What do you think?” Bokuto says, widening his stance. Power pose. Powerless, Akaashi looks down, ears red, and stands up awkwardly in the small space.

“It fits,” Akaashi says somewhat evenly, hopelessly resisting the allure of Bokuto Koutarou in his terribly hip-hugging lingerie. Quelling the tremble in his throat, he manages to ask, “Are you going to buy that?”

“Do you want me to?” Bokuto’s voice is low and soft, like his hands as he holds Akaashi’s face. He can’t look away. Bokuto’s golden gaze is hypnotic despite the fact that Akaashi has become uncomfortable with the extended eye contact. Akaashi closes his eyes.

“Did you need anything else?” Akaashi asks. Bokuto’s hands skim down Akaashi’s clothed skin, coming to a rest at his waist.

“You,” Bokuto says, lifting Akaashi up, pressing their bodies together. Before Akaashi can protest, Bokuto pivots and puts him in the red chair. Looking down at him, cocking his head to the side, suggestively saying, “Anything at all, right?”

“Bokuto-san, I’m working."

“But I’m not sure if I want to buy this. Do your job. Convince me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trust and believe, i am the most surprised i actually wrote this next chapter!! do i know where i'm going? no! will i get there? HELL YES
> 
> let me know what you think about my characterization and pacing lol bc that's my Fear as a Writer. 2018: year of facing your fears and writing about fictional characters fucking.
> 
> hmu @babynerdburger if you're also sucked into the quicksand hell that is tumblr


	3. the fucking merchandise and akaashi keiji's professional work environment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as promised, the smut
> 
> akaashi lets bokuto do some v naughty things to him bc bokuto's thighs,, in lingerie,,,, who's not gay for that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride lmao akaashi did

“Convince you?” Akaashi says, blinking at Bokuto-san standing in front of him, legs impossibly long.

Where should his hands be? He grips the edge of the chair, unsure.

Slowly raising a stockinged foot, Bokuto plants his heel on the seat cushion of the chair between Akaashi’s legs. Maintaining eye contact, Bokuto presses the pad of his foot into Akaashi’s fly. Gently, but hard enough. Persuasive, even.

Akaashi squirms in the slightest. He leans back in the red chair, but widens his legs. Where should his hands be?

“I can take my business elsewhere,” Bokuto says, still pressing into Akaashi. As Akaashi’s ears burn and his thighs tighten, Bokuto presses incrementally harder. The pressure builds and builds and –

Bokuto slides his foot down, flat against the seat cushion. Leaning in, forearm against the angle of his bent knee, Bokuto says seriously, “Because I’m not convinced.”

Bokuto’s face is too close. They’re breathing the same breath. Bokuto is looking down at him with that gloating gaze and that crooked grin. His owlish eyes fixate on Akaashi. His focus slips, breaking their stare to flit to Akaashi’s lips.

They should be closer. His hand should be on Bokuto’s neck.

Akaashi’s eyes narrow as he looks up at Bokuto, tilting his face in tandem with his arm pulling Bokuto by his neck. Bokuto’s bare skin is warm as Akaashi subtracts the space between their faces. Bokuto forgets to shut his eyes, struck by how pretty Akaashi is – eyes closed, porcelain, but far beyond brittle.

Then Akaashi is kissing him, suddenly and sweetly. Bokuto lets his lids fall close as he moves closer. He grabs the back of Akaashi’s head, entangling his fingers in his dark hair, deepening the kiss. His knee falls to the seat, accompanied by the other as Bokuto climbs onto the chair, knees on either side of Akaashi. Akaashi’s hand slides from Bokuto’s neck to his lower waist, holding him steady, sure. He feels the muscles there, engaged in the business of balancing on his knees.

Bokuto sinks, the chair swallowing them both. His thighs are thick on either side of Akaashi, squished into the ever so slightly creaking chair arms.

_Fuck._

Akaashi pulls away. Breathes. Bokuto kisses Akaashi’s neck. The chair groans. His throat is tight when he says, “Stop.”

“Akaashi?” Bokuto says softly, searching Akaashi’s unreadable expression in a daze. His hand slides to Akaashi’s cheek; he turns away. “What’s wrong?”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, voice low, still averting his gaze. Where is Kuroo? What if he brings a customer in for a fitting? This is his job. “It’s loud.”

“It’s exciting.” Bokuto smiles and rocks his hips sharply – the chair thuds against the changeroom wall. Akaashi tightens his worried grip on Bokuto’s waist. “Aren’t you excited?”

It’s suddenly hot and loud and close and Akaashi dips his grip between Bokuto’s legs. Feels Bokuto harden in his hand and Akaashi says, “Aren’t you?”

“Shame, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, nonetheless grinding into Akaashi. “This is a professional environment.”

“Shut up,” Akaashi says and kisses him before he can say a cliché “make me.”

Akaashi hooks a finger into the high waist of Bokuto’s panties and tugs the elastic against Bokuto’s motion. The tented fabric tightens. Bokuto sighs into Akaashi’s mouth, parting the kiss. Their foreheads press together as Akaashi snaps the elastic against Bokuto’s back.

“Touch me,” Bokuto breathes. His inhale is shallow, hitching as he speaks.

 “No.”

Bokuto grinds against Akaashi increasingly quicker, desperate for friction. His rhythm is strong and fast, a well-worn track of a classic tune. Akaashi can feel his wet outline, clearly erect in the now too-small fit. The dark fabric grows darker, damp with pre-cum. Bokuto moves one hand to the back of the armchair, leaning in towards Akaashi’s ears.

“Not enough,” Bokuto says as he reaches down towards himself with his other hand. “Akaashi.”

 “ _No_.”

The look of frustration on Bokuto’s face is almost enough for Akaashi. The shifting stimulation of Bokuto’s weight on top of him is good. Bokuto’s flushed chest, perked nips, and beefy lingerie bod is even better.

“C’mon, give me something,” Bokuto says, edging a whine. “Take your shirt off.”

Bokuto grabs Akaashi’s wrists roughly, perhaps too roughly, from his waist and raises them above his head. Holding them firmly to the wall, with a squeeze to stay, he pulls Akaashi’s shift off over his head by the hem. Discarded on the floor, the “I can keep a secret” slogan is laughable. Akaashi lowers his arms, unconsciously crossing them over his chest. Bokuto coaxes his hands back onto his waist, leaving his chest open and vulnerable, after winning a silent staring contest.

In this quiet moment, the music from the radio is oddly audible and Bokuto resumes rocking his hips to the beat. Akaashi’s wrists roll with the rhythm of what has essentially become a lap dance. His head feels hot and there’s the pressure of paranoia in his reddened ears amplified by the temporal fact that with Kuroo’s sales record, another fitting is inevitable.

Bokuto closes his eyes, face screwed up in concentration. He’s close.

Akaashi is heavy in the armchair, pleasantly crushed into the cushion.

Bokuto’s hips on his. Heaven.

“Right this way,” Kuroo says, apparently approaching the changeroom. With a customer. Kuroo and a customer. Akaashi hears the understated whoosh of the curtain opening. The changeroom next to them. It’s close.

Akaashi looks up at Bokuto, the angel on his lap, the lewd, lewd angel on his lap. His face is red with exertion, his eyes fluttering behind his lids. He sees his own hands on Bokuto’s hips. Kuroo is steps away from his shirtless co-worker whose dick is hard in his jeans and Bokuto is about to come in the fucking merchandise.

“A-kaa-shi,” Kuroo sings, relishing each syllable with devilish flair. “How’s the present fitting?”

Akaashi is mortified. Kuroo knows. He knows. And Bokuto opening his eyes to smile like a fucking idiot does it. Even more embarrassed how much this is turning him on, Akaashi manages to say, “Good. Great.” as Bokuto continues to grind increasingly erratically. “Thanks.”

Bokuto unbuttons Akaashi’s jeans. Unzips them. All the while silently daring Akaashi to stop him.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything to wrap up,” Kuroo says. “ _Anything_ at all…”

Bokuto pulls the elastic of Akaashi’s boxer briefs out. His body is on fire, his dick is on fire. He hopes the building burns down.

“Yeah, actually if you could come in for a m-” Bokuto says. Akaashi immediately claps his hand over Bokuto’s mouth to interject.

“Kuroo-san, we are fine! We’re good!”

The sensational stickiness of his dick springing out is a lot for Akaashi. What’s more is this fucking idiot pulling his length from one leg of the slicked panties and curving his huge hands over their cocks. The second he has Akaashi in his hand, Akaashi lets his head fall back. Visual overloaded by visceral tactility.

“O-k-ay, fill me in later,” Kuroo says as Bokuto strokes. The sound is inaudible, but Akaashi swears it’s broadcasting on the speakers. He can’t hear Kuroo walking away. Is he there? He can hear the customer changing. Can the customer hear them?

Each stroke accompanies an internal monologue of _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Bokuto is hunched over, moving without discretion, singularly driven by pure sexual need. His breathing is slow and deep – the lungs of a trained athlete. It’s hot in Akaashi’s ears as he leans in to whisper, “He knows.”

Akaashi comes. He comes in Bokuto’s hands, his still moving hands, and the up and down motion continues despite the very sensitive fact that Akaashi has come. His body is boneless against Bokuto’s boner, up and down, up and down.

“Everyone knows,” Bokuto whispers. “Kuroo knows. The customers know. They know you’re a slut and they know what it sounds like when you come. And when I’m done with you, you’ll have to go out there and finish your shift knowing they fucking know you’re _mine_.”

Mind blank, senses screaming, Akaashi takes Bokuto’s cock from his hand, allowing his own to be limp in peace. With a few expert twists of his wrist, Akaashi feels the physiology of Bokuto’s ejaculation. Bokuto comes on Akaashi’s chest, then becomes a heap on the chair, full dead weight on Akaashi. The semen sticks to their sweaty skin and the customer opens their curtain and there’s a silent sighing moment where Akaashi and Bokuto are simply together.

In their soft, post-orgasmic bliss, Akaashi recovers enough to say, "You're going to buy that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this during study breaks, on the ocean, at 3am in the morning (thanks insomnia), and a variety of other half hour gaps in my busy bee day cos i'm back in college hell 
> 
> this is my first time writing smut with dicks (hopefully you couldn't tell hahA) but yeah i enjoyed it, hope u did too, and look forward to next time when i get my narrative threads woven together for some ass kicking "aha" moment that may or may not involve yams but def involves tsukki and maybe some domestic daisuga 
> 
> as always, you can hmu @babynerdburger and thanks to everybody that actually did, i was totally not expecting that!! i'm just here to make the internet more gay and apparently i am succeeding


	4. tsukishima as a mutual friend: are you fucking kidding me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi rings up Bokuto's lingerie. Daichi and Sugawara get a package. Kuroo follows his dick to a bar. Wholesome content.

Leaving Bokuto to dress, Akaashi casually exits the changeroom and slips into the staff washroom. Washing his hands, his reflection shows a smile tugging at the corners of his lips - what an unusual sensation. On the edge of calm fully clothed, his hair is hopeless. Only in contrast to Kuroo's eternal bedhead is it passably decent. The best he can manage is untucking his hair to hide his telling ears a little.

He tries to keep his expression as neutral as always and he can't stop body-checking for a tell. God forbid he show emotion. He's uncomfortably sticky, but he assures himself not visibly so. He washes his hands again.

Out on the floor, Kuroo's busy with a couple in the corner, talking animatedly with a wand as if it were a microphone. He catches Akaashi's eye and pointedly raises an eyebrow. Akaashi looks away.

At the cash counter, Akaashi takes a drink from his water bottle because he doesn't know what to do with his hands again. He meticulously unscrews the lid, unnecessarily dragging out the drink, gathering himself.

The thought of Bokuto dressing evokes the feeling of after eating a gooey cinnamon bun and getting it everywhere. Akaashi pumps hand sanitizer into his palm.

Bokuto enters the floor with heart eyes, radiant. _Sin_ namon bun.

Akaashi looks away, busying himself straightening a condom display, as if nothing had happened. But it had, and Bo has the glow he gets when he's feeling good. Seeing him feels like a flower blossoming in his chest and he needs to grab the sheers.

Bo saunters up to the counter with all the confidence in the world. The merchandise in his right hand is strategically folded with the price tags poking out, his left is an armful of hangers.

"Hey," Bokuto says, leaning over the counter.

"Hello."

Akaashi goes through the motions of ringing him up. The process is automatic. He pointedly avoids Bokuto's eyes, clearly wanting attention, but this really is Akaashi's professional work environment. He fails to keep a smile pressed between his lips. Embarrassment is taking root, but it's fine, it's good, his hands are working.

"Can I get a discount? I noticed a stain on this one," Bokuto says.

"Really?" Akaashi's laugh dies on his lips as he slips the garments into a bag.

"It fits me pretty well, at least my boyfriend thinks so," Bokuto continues. "A thirty-one percent discount will do."

"What's all this about doing?" Kuroo says. He can't help but join in on this rare display of Akaashi emotion.

"Have a nice day," Akaashi says.

Bag in hand, Bokuto blows a kiss and says, "Later, lover" to which Akaashi sighs.

_I'm in love with an idiot._

"Roommates these days," Kuroo says as the bell jingles on Bokuto's way out. Akaashi takes another sip of water. "Always having a nice lay."

Akaashi chokes.

"Shut up."

"Okay, lover boy," Kuroo says. "I'll be in the changeroom if you want to make me."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of we're on the clock."

"Oh, is it sex o'clock? Again?"

"I'm quitting."

 

*

 

Kuroo looks up from counting the cash at a quarter to closing as Daichi and Sugawara enter the shop. Akaashi is closing the floor - checking changerooms, display locks, and finally, shutting off select lights. The sun has long since set and at this time of the year, customers don't want to be out in the cold.

"Ah, almost home time," Daichi says warmly as Sugawara unwinds his scarf.

"There's a package for you in the office," Kuroo says, continuing to cash out.

"All right, thanks," Daichi says, smiling at his husband's suggestive wink at the word "package." He checks his wristwatch and decides to lock the store door.

"Akaashi, the floor looks good, I think we can take it from here," Sugawara says.

"Thanks," Akaashi says and slips into the staff room. At the counter, Kuroo seals the envelope and places it on the till, which he hands to Suga.

"Night, bosses," Kuroo says, following after Akaashi.

"Thanks for your hard work, Kuroo, night," Daichi says, shutting off the rest of the lights before following Suga, who takes the till to the office. Suga locks the money in the safe as Daichi takes a letter opener to the mail on their desk.

"Look what's come in," Daichi says, unboxing what is unmistakably a butt plug.

"You want to try it out?" Suga says, swinging shut the office door.

 

*

 

When Kuroo gets home all the lights are off, so he hangs up his leather jacket in blind familiarity. The glow from the television illuminates the video game cocoon that is Kenma, curled up like a cat on the sofa. Kuroo thinks it's cute until he sees Kenma's unblinking face and the surrounding destruction of their apartment. It's like a bedding emporium exploded and spawned a haphazard blanket fort.

"Hey, did you eat?"

Kenma doesn't respond and Kuroo didn't expect him to. He can see several half-eaten snacks on the coffee table and already knows the answer. The dishes are done, so he must have gotten up at some point. And it is a Saturday night. And it is Kenma.

Kuroo crashes on the couch next to him; no response.

Kenma is probably too tired to talk, and besides, Kuroo is finally able to scratch the mystery itch of the missed call now that his shift is over, he's home, and his feet are up. Kuroo unlocks his phone and logs onto Facebook. If Facebook is good for anything, it's good for stalking hot hook ups that remain relevant the next evening. Typing "Tsukishima" into the search box yields results to be sifted through until -

"Tsukishima Kei," Kuroo says, aloud and surprisingly accomplished.

"Who?" Kenma says, eyes wide and owlish.

"A guy."

In his profile picture, Tsukishima's expression is neutral. He seems the type not to like his picture taken. There's something about his eyes, an arrogant glint behind his glasses. He knows when they're off, Tsukishima's eyes have a softer focus. Not soft, but softer.

Damn his privacy settings - Kuroo wants to see more.

"There's always a guy."

Are there candids that catch his vulnerability? He doesn't seem the type to be honest. Hell, sex with Tsukishima was like a script. A very, very hot script including a well-written daddy kink, but a façade nonetheless. 

"This one's different."

Kuroo sends Tsukishima a friend request. Maybe Tsukishima simply is an asshole, but like a game of cat and mouse, it's really more about the chase.

"You always say that."

"It's always true!"

What is Tsukishima doing and why can't he get this guy out of his head? It's unreasonable to expect a friend request to be reciprocated in under sixty seconds. Is he really after Tsukshima's profile? His probably infrequent status updates? Of course not.

Kuroo wants to get into his pants. And that has to be done in person.

"I'm going out, do you want to come?" Kuroo asks.

"Nope."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"No."

"Text me if you change your mind."

There is no guarantee he'd be working at the bar, so Kuroo didn't want to go alone. He could always pick up someone else there, but that didn't excite him. Not when he was stuck on someone. Ew, what is this.

He gets up to muss his hair in the bathroom mirror, but he can hear Akaashi on his shoulder muttering "hopeless." There is a certain charm to the eternal bedhead. Or so Kuroo thought, anyway.

His phone pings with a meme from Yamaguchi about customers, referencing their conversation at the coffeehouse earlier. Uncanny timing.

Kuroo: hey, u free to go out tonight?

Kuroo: i want to go to that bar on 6th

Kuroo: kenma is comatose on the couch so

Kuroo glances over at Kenma, still alive if only his thumbs. He shrugs into his leather jacket, drapes a scarf, and pats his pocket for his wallet and keys.

Yamaguchi: funny enough, i'm actually headed there to pick up my "friend." u know the one that ditched me at lunch

Kuroo: he doesn't deserve you

Kuroo: let's find you someone else to pick up

Yamaguchi: i think we have different concept of friendship

Kuroo: maybe so

"Bye, Kenma. Remember to text me if you need anything," Kuroo calls, locking up as he leaves.

Yamaguchi: are you looking to get lucky? like will you want a ride home?

Kuroo: there is someone,,,specific,,,

Yamaguchi: lol ok

Yamaguchi: don't ditch me tho, like let me know. we'll probably have an hour before my friend's off

Kuroo: does he work there? i'm looking for a bartender babe, maybe he can help

Yamaguchi: ofc you fucked a bartender. classique

Kuroo: thank you, thank you

 

*

 

Kuroo leans against the wall outside the bar feeling like hot shit half an hour later. His skin is buzzing with the idea of Tsukishima, of looking at him and saying "hey." Tsukshima scowling back but swooning later. Hot.

The anticipation keeps him warm as he waits for Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi shows up still smelling like coffee, a comfort amongst the alcohol, changed into a hoodie and jeans from his work apron look.

"Hey, Mr. Leather Jacket, you like you're going to get laid regardless of that specific someone," Yamaguchi says, as Kuroo peels off the wall to follow him into the bar.

"You offering?" Kuroo says, the bass booming as the bouncers check their IDs.

Yamaguchi gives Kuroo a once over and says, "You're not my type."

Kuroo laughs and scans the bar. It's early in the night. The music isn't too loud, so the people present can speak easily. There are a few booths with bodies, the dance floor is dead, and the bartenders aren't busy.

And a certain blonde bartender isn't there at all.

"You want to eat?" Kuroo says, realizing he hasn't properly eaten. Since Tsukishima is out of sight, his brain is regaining blood. They order, then take their drinks back to a table - water for Yamaguchi since he's driving.

As they're waiting for their burgers in a booth, Kuroo refreshes his Facebook feed. Nothing.

Tsukishima seems the type to pretend to be offline, but just leave his notifications unread. Or maybe Kuroo's overthinking it. How well can you know a person from one night?

All the more reason to want to know more.

"Sorry, I'm being rude," Kuroo says, locking his phone and looking up at Yamaguchi sipping his straw. "So, what is your type, Yama?"

"Are you upset you're not my type?"

"Well if I'm not then who is?"

Yamaguchi looks uncomfortable for a split second as his eyes flit away. It's not embarrassment or enough to disrupt their easy back and forth, but it's some emotion that flickers too fast for Kuroo to name.

"What's your type? Who do you keep looking around for?" Yamaguchi asks, redirecting their discussion. Kuroo laughs as Yamaguchi imitates him fervently looking around with comedic liberty.

"I do not look like that!"

"Right, sorry," Yamaguchi says, messing up his hair and miming again.

As a server brings their burgers, Yamaguchi self-consciously smooths his hair before thanking them for the food.

"Okay, okay, so I met this blonde asshole at the bar last night and I can't get him out of my head," Kuroo sighs, resting his head on his hand in exasperation. "I want head."

"I've never met anyone as horny as you, oh my god."

"Trust me, if you saw this guy you'd get it."

Yamaguchi looks down at his fries with a half-hearted laugh, like an inside joke for himself and quietly says, "I don't think so."

"Like, he's rude in a way that's hot if that's all there is, if he's just an asshole. But I don't think that's all there is. I think he's secretly a softy and I want to fuck it out of him."

"Pseudo-jerk? Sounds like my friend," Yamaguchi says, idly eating his fries. "Although I don't think he'd be easily seduced."

"You doubt my seductive swag?"

"Only because you're calling it seductive swag, you dork."

"We started hooking up in the staff room and then finished at my place. I'm charismatic, thank you very much." Kuroo pauses to down the rest of his drink. "It was really good. My body is ready for round two."

"Of course you are."

Over Yamaguchi's shoulder, Kuroo sees his bosses entering the bar. Sugawara's leading Daichi in by the hand, angelic albeit with a devilish smile. Kuroo scoots out of sight - sure his bosses are cool, but he doesn't exactly want to make eye contact right now.

"Where's your friend, by the way?" Kuroo says, checking the clock on his phone.

"Should be behind the bar," Yamaguchi says, "but I don't see him. It's almost quitting time - I'll go check."

Kuroo watches Yamaguchi walk up to the bar, sit on a stool. He can see Yamaguchi's lips moving, but the music makes him inaudible. Yamaguchi's body language is patient as the bartender he's speaking to slips behind a door, presumably to find his friend. Kuroo's eyes wander to the dance floor where he hopes to see someone that would make him forget about Tsukishima.

Instead, Sugawara and Daichi are dancing in a way he, as their employee, definitely hasn't seen before. There's a wistful longing as he looks away - he's young now, but when's he's older, will he have his version of that?

In his periphery, he sees the staff door swing back open and it's him, it's Tsukishima, with a name and a _now._ Kuroo doesn't consciously move but something in him has clicked on and he's at the counter.

Is it his heart beating or the bass?

"Hey," Kuroo says, smirking as Tsukshima's eyes widen in recognition, then slip to the side. There's a hand on Kuroo's arm and he remembers Yamaguchi exists and Tsukishima is looking at Yamaguchi too, and his eyes are widening.

Yamaguchi leans in to be heard over the music and say-yells, "Kuroo, this is my friend Tsukshima. Tsukki, Kuroo."

"Are you fucking kidding me," Kuroo says.

"Sorry, what?" Yamaguchi yells, but Tsukishima - _Tsukki?_ \- has obviously heard and the words have pinned him in place, doe eyes magnified by his glasses.

"This is your friend," Kuroo shouts at the same time Tsukishima says, "Yamaguchi, let's leave."

"Yes..." Yamaguchi says, seemingly to both. Kuroo swallows. Tsukki's eyebrow twitches. "Oh no, no, no, don't tell me -" Yamaguchi laughs so hard he needs to pause to catch his breath. "You two fucked?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm alive! and i finally have time to sleep AND write. incredible.
> 
> this upd8 took me a while, my friends, but somehow we all made it here! comment n let me know what you think!!
> 
> as always, i'm on tumblr @babynerdburger hmu (◕‿◕✿)y


	5. falling further in love with suga, daichi's salty, salty sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cars and bars! yama and kuroo pick up tsukki from the bar where suga gets his husband drunk
> 
> yes! i didn't forget about this fic! i really am just a slow writer and a busy bee otherwise

“I know you’re a blonde asshole, but I didn’t know you’re his blonde asshole,” Yamaguchi says, staring dumbfounded at his friend. The lighting in the bar is far too dim to say definitively, but Kuroo swears Tsukishima is blushing.

“Let’s leave,” Tsukishima repeats, carefully avoiding eye contact with Kuroo. “Meet you outside.”

Tsukishima leaves abruptly, assuming agreement.

“Oh my god,” Yamaguchi says, slipping off his bar stool, car keys in hand as Kuroo follows him. Outside, the music is muted, and Kuroo can clearly feel Yamaguchi’s glee. “Please tell me you want a ride.”

“Well, I –” Kuroo looks from Yamaguchi to the cars in the parking lot and the thought of public transit outright sucks in comparison.

“You’ve literally been thinking about him all day. Get in the car,” Yamaguchi says, unlocking the car doors as punctuation.

“Okay,” Kuroo says.

He can see Tsukishima approaching and it’s not the bass, it’s his heartbeat. There’s something alive about being out at night in the veins of a city flowing with people, and breathing in the same air, and feeling connected on some unexplainable macro level to all these people.

Kuroo is young and alive, and when he opens the car door, he accepts that whatever is going to happen next is happening now.

“You know where I live, right?” Kuroo says.

“Yeah, I think we both do,” Yamaguchi says, ducking into the driver’s seat.

Tsukishima sits in the passenger seat, all knees at his height. Kuroo knows the feeling, then he feels another feeling and has to stop looking at Tsukishima’s thighs. He wishes he had more alcohol and mourns his half-finished drink from the bar, thinking of his bank account.

What is it about boys that makes his budget irrelevant?

“So,” Yamaguchi says, “how was your shift?”

“Fine,” Tsukishima says, the one-word wonder that he is.

Yamaguchi leaves space for Tsukishima to speak, guessing he won’t but hoping he will. He turns the radio on low to some pop station before reversing and exiting the parking lot. Yamaguchi is a cautious but competent driver. He’s driven Kuroo home before, and Kuroo realizes he’s never seen him more than tipsy. Yamaguchi is the mom friend, the designated driver happy to offer a ride to friends.

“How long have you two known each other?” Kuroo says. He hadn’t particularly cared about talking when he first met Tsukishima. One look at his lips and he was a goner.

“A while.”

Kuroo expects Tsukishima’s vagueness, considering they spent last night together and Tsukishima acts like they’ve never met. He’s never met anyone so intriguing. Maybe it’s different when they’re alone together, but Kuroo notices that neither Yamaguchi nor Tsukishima talk about themselves. As a person who can’t shut up about their personal life, Kuroo tries to supress his chronic oversharing.

“He’s like my Kenma,” Yamaguchi says to clarify.

Tsukishima looks moodily out the window, unengaged. The lines on his eyes are carved from the exhaustion of late nights. Something about the set of his shoulders says he’s listening, though.

“As childhood friends, tell me, did Tsukishima have glasses proportionate to his face as a baby, yes or no?” Kuroo says. Yamaguchi’s laughing before Kuroo can even finish the question. “Please tell me no.”

“Growing up is weird as heck,” Yamaguchi says, reminiscing on unspoken memories.

“Yeah, you’re born, you blink, and then you’re selling someone their first anal kink kit,” Kuroo says.

“That’s just you,” Yamaguchi says.

“Excuse me?” Tsukishima says.

“He works across the street from the café at the sex toy store,” Yamaguchi says.

“That explains a lot.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” Yamaguchi says.

“My bosses are the best, though. They’re this married couple and they love each other and the shop so much,” Kuroo says, beaming at the thought of Daichi and Sugawara. “And they kinky as fuck, but you couldn’t guess that. I saw them at the bar, actually.”

“Oh?” Yamaguchi says.

“You meet the greatest people at that bar, hey, Tsukki?” Kuroo says, last night honey on his lips.

“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima says, reflexively vinegar.

“Don’t be rude, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, smiling because he can get away with it.

Tsukishima huffs. Kuroo wants him to say something, anything that he actually means, but maybe he’s being mean. Maybe Tsukishima’s a jerk to hide that he’s a horribly awkward person. Yamaguchi is so soft and they’re friends, so he can’t just be a jerk.

“Yeah, Tsu –” Kuroo says.

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Tsukishima says. With meaning. Maybe Yamaguchi needs to be soft to be friends with someone like Tsukishima.

Kuroo leans back, taking up his own space, having noticed he had gradually gravitated towards Tsukishima. He smirks, knowing he’s gotten to Tsukki, who really does have feelings. Everyone has feelings. Is he a bad person for wanting to Tsukishima to react, even in anger? Suddenly his leather jacket fits wrong. Too much fabric on his neck, but he can’t take it off. This is simply fun amongst friends. Tsukishima doesn’t have to be happy to see him – as long as he feels something.

“I love this song,” Yamaguchi says, turning up the radio and singing along to the recognizable pop bop. Yamaguchi is by no means a good singer, but the unabashed way with which he belts out the lovey lyrics is great. The tension softens with the leather of his jacket and the world slots into place, loosening its grip on Kuroo’s throat.  

The hum of the highway and the streetlights glowing yellow in and out as they drive keeps Kuroo present, breathing. Part way through the song the lyrics are predictable enough Kuroo can get his mouth around the words. He watches Tsukishima’s reflection supress a smile, but his fingers flutter against his leg to the beat.

“We should do karaoke sometime,” Yamaguchi says as the song ends.

“We should do it now,” Kuroo says, laughing but serious.

“No,” Tsukishima says.

“I’d like to hear your voice,” Kuroo says, leaning his cheek on the driver’s seat to look at Tsukishima.

“I’ve really never met someone as horny as you,” Yamaguchi says. “Always the smooth talker.”

“Hey, I’m always this genuine,” Kuroo says, sitting back. “Tsukishima, tell him.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes in response.

He turns the radio back up and looks out the window, resting his head in his hand. Kuroo swears he’s half mouthing the words under the hand hovering over his mouth.

 

*

 

On a Saturday night Daichi and Suga were usually cuddled up on the couch covered in salty popcorn watching a rom-com or a cooking competition. This Saturday, however, the couple indulge in a spontaneous night out clubbing. Strictly for the business purposes of testing out their new product and absolutely not because they want to fuck.

Well, Suga absolutely wants to fuck, and Daichi is more than happy to oblige. Occupational hazard.

Daichi does regret wearing skinny jeans. As they walk into the bar, Suga leading him in by the hand, he’s very aware of his butt. At least they’re black skinny jeans.

Daichi tries to walk normally, but nobody who is consciously trying to walk normally can walk normally. Especially since his husband has an app that with a tap of his finger can send him to his knees. The mere thought nearly has him there.

“Sit,” Suga says, and Daichi does what he’s told, sitting on a bar stool. Perfect posture. Suga sits next to him, angling his body to get the attention of the bartender.

Suga’s an angel with a devil of a mouth, which Daichi can’t help but fixate on during such stimulating times. He pulls out his phone, gliding his fingers idly over the intensity setting.

“You play dirty, you know?” Daichi says. Suga winks over his shoulder and after all this time, Daichi is still falling further in love with his salty, salty sweetheart.

Suga orders a drink because Daichi is too distracted to form coherent sentences. His husband is trying to get him drunk and all he feels is fondness. The bartender puts on a show of pouring a shot. Daichi reaches into his pocket to pay. Any change in his posture has him breathing heavy. He manages to tap his card to the machine. He feels his cheeks reddening, his usual calm crumbling as he pushes his wallet into his ever-tightening jeans.

Suga leans in and says, “Let’s dance!”

As if Daichi could refuse.

Under no circumstances does Daichi want to move. Goddamn, Suga really could get him to do anything. He downs his shot, waves the bartender for another fully knowing he’ll be getting sloppy too soon, and lets his husband lead him to the dancefloor.

If he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied, he’d try to think of a way to wrap Suga around his finger this tightly, but as it stands, he can barely stand in his skin-tight skinny jeans.

And it’s been ages since they’ve gone out. While waltzing in their sun room resides in a soft spot of Suga’s heart, grinding in public is a given at a gay bar.

The laser lights dance overhead as Suga puts his hands on Daichi’s hips, pulling him into a dirty dance. Daichi is unsurprised by Suga’s lack of reservations, swallows his, and follows suit. The music is loud, like liquid around them, flooding the floor so the only way to float is continuous movement. Daichi hears nothing but the bass vibrating through his bones, and his oncoming boner from the sudden vibration inside him.

Suga smirks, tapping at his phone, playing with Daichi like a toy, pressing his button. Dancing like this, Suga’s hands all over him, shifts the toy, a fact which he knows Suga is well aware of.

Suga grinds up against Daichi’s front, putting his husband’s hands on his hips as they’re swallowed by a sea of dancers. The floor is packed tighter than Daichi’s pants. Suga dances Daichi into a corner, presses him up against a wall, and leans in for a kiss.

It isn’t the chaste peck he’d press to Daichi’s cheek during business hours, but a full-on tonguing, wet and open mouthed. Suga side-eyes the phone in his hand, tapping a pattern to send Daichi wave after wave of vibration, pinning him to the wall and holding him there among the push and pull of the crowd.

Daichi can’t take it. He can’t move. He can’t stop kissing Suga. He really can’t come. Not here. Not in a public place.

 “Suga, stop, I can’t,” Daichi breathes between kisses. Suga stops but keeps him cornered.

 “Don’t you want to, though?” Suga’s breath was hot on Daichi’s ear, and he does want to come. He wants to so badly, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself, and that only makes it hotter.

“I do, I do, but I can’t. Suga. I can’t.”

“I can do it for you. Will you let me, baby?”

Daichi nods and that is all Suga needs.

Suga runs his hands down Daichi’s chest, pops the button on his black skinny jeans, and plunges his hand into his pants. Suga knows how Daichi likes to get off and he cruelly tugs at his cock. Daichi has no choice but to take it.

Daichi can’t, but he’s going to. He’s going to give in and let his husband ruin him in a goddamn club. He’s going to come.

He wants to. Oh my god he wants to.

The thick fullness in his ass, the vibe pressing on his prostate, Suga pressing him against the wall, and jerking him off. Three strokes and Daichi comes in his pants. The vibrations don’t stop. Daichi begins to sink to his knees and Suga catches him, slings his arm over his shoulder.

He loves his husband so much, and even more, if that’s possible, when the buzzing finally slows to a stop, and Suga plants a kiss on his cheek. Daichi lets himself be led outside, his body warm and still buzzing with what is apparently a slight exhibitionist streak enhanced by the alcohol.

Even as they’re walking out of the club, Daichi feels his body dragging behind, disconnected from his brain, like a pleasant trail stretching from body to brain. He’s happy he has Suga’s shoulder to slump against, he’s all angel now.

In the parking lot, Daichi comes back to his body slowly. He feels a bit like a college kid again, changing his boxer briefs in the back seat of a car. At least he owns this car and it’s not hot garbage on wheels. Suga hands him a wet wipe because of course he does.

“You’re the best,” Daichi says when he’s cleaned up, feeling fresh in soft, unrestricting joggers.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Suga leans over to the passenger seat and gives Daichi another kiss, this time on the forehead, and Daichi feels so cared for he could cry.

 

*

 

“Hey, thanks for the ride,” Kuroo says, leaning against the driver’s side window. He ducks down so he can see Tsukishima too. “By the way, why’d you call me earlier, Tsukishima?”

“I left my jacket.” Tsukishima’s glaring but his cheeks are tinged pink. It could be the cold.

“You want to come in and get it?” Kuroo says suggestively.

There’s something so fucking hot about Tsukishima showing emotion. It’s the possibility of vulnerability showing through a seemingly impenetrable façade. He wants to fuck it out of him, make him admit he’s human. It’s not about love, it’s about sex and human connection and he wants to get Tsukishima hot and bothered again.

“Is that why you’re not wearing your jean jacket today? Tsukki, just go in and get it,” Yamaguchi says like a matchmaking mother.

Kuroo hears the car door open. Tsukishima gets out and doesn’t look at Kuroo, just pushes past him in a huff, his breath ghosting into the night. Kuroo waves at Yamaguchi and follow Tsukishima in. He steps aside to let Kuroo unlock the door.

There’s quiet talking coming from the television and Kenma’s so small he could be curled up anywhere.

“My roommate might be sleeping – if not, don’t be scared if you think you see a goblin.”

“Where is it?” Tsukishima stands arms crossed as Kuroo takes his shoes off.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t even notice you left it.”

Tsukishima left in such a hurry it’s amazing he took his shoes.

Tsukishima spots his jacket still on the stand at the door and snatches it off the hook. Looks like it’s going to be a repeat.

“Goodnight,” Kuroo says to his already closed front door. At least he had the decency to shut it softly.

He unlocks his phone and connects to the Wi-Fi. Home sweet home. Notifications ping in, including a text from Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi: you’re welcome

For a second, Kuroo doesn’t get it. It can’t be from literally a minute ago when he said thanks for the ride. He gets it when there’s a knock on his door and Tsukishima is there.

“He didn’t,” Kuroo whispers, holding back a laugh as realization hits. More for Kenma’s sake than Tsukki’s.

“He did,” Tsukishima hisses, daring him to fucking laugh.

“Come on in.”

“I’m not staying.”

“What? You have money for a cab?”

“Give me your Wi-Fi password and I’ll get the bus schedule.”

“Do you know what time it is? You’ll be waiting in the freezing cold for almost an hour.”

“I have two coats.”

“And apparently two brain cells.”

“This is not funny.”

“Sorry. Look. I have a pull-out couch and it’s fucking cold outside.” Tsukishima’s cheeks are red and it’s not the cold. Somehow his glare intensifies – his eyes are slits and Kuroo questions if he can actually see anything. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Are we literally re-enacting “Baby It’s Cold Outside?”

“Is that why you’re glaring at me? I didn’t ask Yamaguchi to do this and I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to. I thought we had fun last night, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine.”

“Wi-Fi’s on the fridge, but I swear to fuck if you die out there do not come back and haunt me.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but he takes off his coat and his shoes. His socks have dinosaurs in Santa hats on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry chrysler! happy holigays! fun fact, this fic all takes place on one saturday in december even though i have now been writing this for a year! how has 20gayteen been for you?
> 
> one of my resolutions was to write 3 fics and i definitely did that! i am That Bitch! comment n let me know what you think!! seriously, it's christmas and i live for your comments ngl 
> 
> & if you're still on the dumpster fire that is tumblr i'm @babynerdburger


	6. anywhere you brush your teeth is home: everyone gets some...sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feeling a lil soft in this last chapter, i hope ur heart melts a little too!

“Would you like the sober grand tour?” Kuroo says, releasing an armful of fresh blankets into the blanket disaster zone Kenma’s left in the living room. He has a feeling Tsukishima is particular, even if he says anything is fine.

“No thank you,” Tsukishima says.

“Would you prefer the drunk, sexy detour?”

“I would prefer to be in my own home.”

“Anywhere you brush your teeth is home.” Kuroo hands Tsukishima a toothbrush still in the packaging. Tsukishima gives him a look of complete absurdity but accepts the toothbrush.

Kuroo shows Tsukishima where the snacks are in the kitchen, which he politely declines, then where everything is in the washroom, which he excuses himself to.

It occurs to Kuroo he should check if Kenma’s okay.

Kuroo pads down the hall towards the front door, peeking into Kenma’s bedroom. The bed is flat, no blanket burrito. Bad sign.

Kuroo enters the blanket disaster zone properly, peeling back the layers of quilt, and finds his roommate passed out on the pull-out couch.

_Fuck._

Kuroo pulls out his phone to text Yamaguchi while Tsukishima’s in the washroom.

Kuroo: “you’re welcome”????

Kuroo: why does someone so evil have such an innocent face

Yamaguchi: it’s the freckles

Yamaguchi: and i’m not evil! i’m a good friend!

Kuroo: please pick up your tsukki, good friend.

Yamaguchi: i will tomorrow, it’s v late

Kuroo: i know!!

Kuroo: kenma fell asleep on the couch. WHAT DO

Yamaguchi: sounds like a personal problem

Yamaguchi: night~~

Kuroo hangs his head.

Kuroo: freckle basard

Yamaguchi leaves him on read.

When Tsukishima re-enters the room, now considerate of a sleeping goblin, Kuroo whispers, “Kenma is asleep on the couch, and we absolutely cannot wake him up, but you can have my bed.”

Tsukishima looks over to see for himself, as if to check Kuroo’s telling the truth. Kenma’s arm hangs off the couch, but the rest of his body is covered. Tsukishima sighs.

“Is this an elaborate scheme to get me into bed?”

“As if I’d need an elaborate scheme,” Kuroo counters, then gestures to the couch. “And I’ll be taking his bed.”

“I can’t take your bed.”

“Why not?”

“It’s your bed.”

“If you want to spoon, you can just say so.”

“You know what? This is stupid. I’ll leave.” Tsukishima turns to go. He’s by the door before Kuroo can blink, and it crashes over Kuroo that he can’t be a big enough idiot to make Tsukishima feel like he has to leave.

“Hey, hey, don’t leave,” Kuroo says in a hush, and Tsukishima stops short of the rush to his shoes. “Talk to me. What’s going on, Mr. Mysterious?”

Tsukishima glares but there’s no energy behind it. It might be the light, but Tsukishima’s gaze looks a little glossy.

“Seriously. I want to help, but I’m not a mind reader. If you want me to stop talking and pretend nothing happened between us, tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Tsukishima blinks and Kuroo can’t quite read his expression when he says, “You’re so honest.”

“The only straight I am is straightforward,” Kuroo says with a wink, no hesitation.

Tsukishima is slower to speak. He’s looking at his shoes – he can’t bring his eyes up to look at Kuroo. That’s okay. Kuroo is patient.

“I know I gave you my number, but you didn’t seem the type to call. But now you’re here and I don’t want you to leave,” Kuroo admits, hand scratching the back of his head, looking down for once. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Unlikely. You’re at the bar all the time.”

“You noticed me?”

“It’s difficult not to. You drunkenly dance on the tables. You’re a hazard.”

“Am I?”

“I believe you’re technically banned. I don’t know how you keep getting in.”

“I’m persistent.” Kuroo waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“I know,” Tsukishima says softly.

“Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

So Tsukishima nods and follows Kuroo to his room. Kuroo opens a drawer and says Tsukishima can pick whatever he likes. When Tsukishima hesitates, Kuroo recommends a pair of Christmas cat patterned pants, but Tsukishima gingerly pulls out a black plaid combo.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Kuroo says.

“Are you trying to get me naked?” Tsukishima says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes.”

“No thank you.”

“Okay…” Kuroo says, closing his bedroom door slowly behind him on his way to the bathroom. “Feel free to change your mind.”

*

His heart is pounding as he takes his pants off in the bathroom. It’s possible Tsukishima will open this door and suck him against this wall, fuck him in the shower. It’s unlikely, but it could happen. Or by the time he’s showered, Tsukki could be sleeping in his bed. Or have already left with his jean jacket. Hopefully not. He turns the water on hot and steam fills the bathroom like a sigh – fuck it’s been a long Saturday.

Kuroo steps into the shower, hot water running down his body, easing the soreness in his muscles. Studying, working, and keeping himself alive is a lot.

He lathers up shampoo in his hair and rinses it out. He leaves his conditioner in, washes his face, wonders what Tsukishima’s doing. He squeezes body wash into his hand, which inevitably finds its way around his cock. He can’t help it. He’s thinking about Tsukki laying in his bed, in his T-shirt. Preferably without pants. Like last night.

He wants to fuck Tsukishima. He wants to tear off his clothes. Get on top of him. Pin him down with the full weight of his body. Hold his wrists above his head so all he can do is look up at him with that haughty glare. Smirk in Tsukki’s face until he realizes he’s fucking helpless and that carefully crafted façade cracks.

And Tsukishima admits he wants Kuroo to fuck him without reserve.

He imagines Tsukishima’s hand around him, pumping him through suds. A moan escapes his mouth and he can’t stop, Tsukishima’s hand is hot on his cock, and he can’t stop, Tsukki is going to make him come.

_No._

He should sleep in Kenma’s bed. On the floor. Anywhere but next to Tsukishima’s warmth if he’s unwilling. He’s not used to people not wanting him and the tension is tugging at him. He’s unable to tear his hand off his dick.  

Last night didn’t mean anything, but it could. It felt amazing to seduce Tsukishima into the staff room at the bar, bring him home, and fuck. Amazing right up until Tsukishima ran away. He’s only here because of a jean jacket Kuroo tore off him the second they were half a step inside his place.

Kuroo closes his eyes and leans back against the shower wall, water hitting his chest, cock slick in his hand as he comes at the thought of undressing Tsukki and pressing his lips to the pulse on his neck.

*

Kuroo’s bedhead tamed by a ton of hot water, his mouth minty fresh, he returns to his bedroom by the light of his phone. After he’s jacked off in the shower, he’s sleepy and ready to collapse until he sees the blonde head on his pillow, black framed glasses on his night stand.

He remembers he can’t sleep in his bed.

He has to get his phone charging cord, but he doesn’t want to disturb Tsukishima who is either asleep or pretending to be.

He comes closer quietly, carefully shining his flashlight away from Tsukishima, though he’s facing away towards the wall. He leans into the bed a bit to reach the outlet. His weight dipping the mattress makes Tsukishima roll over. Tsukishima opens his eyes as Kuroo unplugs the cord.

Tsukishima grabs Kuroo’s collar and yanks him forward. Kuroo crumbles into his bed, body pulled horizontal. He loses his balance, lips parting in surprise as Tsukishima kisses him. Kuroo’s eyes are wide as Tsukishima’s close, his tongue swiping Kuroo’s and all Kuroo can think about is how pretty Tsukishima’s eyelashes are, dimly lit by his phone, which is still gripped tightly in his right hand.

Kuroo pulls back. Tsukishima still has him by the collar.

“I need my cable,” Kuroo says breathlessly, the cord clutched in his left hand. Tsukishima’s lidded eyes open wide with realization, embarrassment flushing his face as he looks at his hands, still fisted in Kuroo’s shirt. He lets go, stunned into shock.

“I – I – I thought –” Tsukishima stammers. His body goes limp in the bed. “You can let me die now.”

Kuroo laughs and rolls off of Tsukishima. He puts his phone and cord down to reach over and turn on a lamp before he settles into a pretzeled position.

“Turn that off. Don’t look at me.” Tsukishima has his hands over his face, facing the wall, blanket brought up to his ears. “Stop laughing! Don’t wake up your roommate!”

“Sorry,” Kuroo says. His cheeks hurt from smiling. It hurts to stifle his laughter, but it’s late and he really shouldn’t wake up Kenma. “I can’t help it. You’re just so cute.”

“Someone who is over 190 centimeters can’t be cute.”

“Hiding your face and denying how cute you are is the definition of cute.”

Tsukishima throws the blanket off his face and sits up, blushing in the lamplight. Without his glasses, his usually menacing glare is diluted into adorable frustration.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Tsukishima blinks in rapid succession but can’t start a sentence. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I –”

“Well I have my charger, so I don’t need to stay.” Kuroo shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, but he can feel Tsukishima’s eyes burning on the nape of his neck. “Unless you want me to?”

He lets the question dangle like his legs off the bed. Of course he wants to stay, but he wants Tsukishima to be the one to say it.

“Kuroo…”

“Tell me what you want.”

A pause. A look of resolution. And then –

“Turn the light off.”

“Okay.” Kuroo leans over and tugs out the cord while making eye contact so in the sudden dark he still knows where Tsukishima’s eyes are. They’re so close Kuroo can feel the warmth of Tsukishima’s breath. Now he’s thinking about Tsukki’s neck again and he hopes his raising heartrate isn’t audible.  

“Lie down.”

“Okay.” Kuroo lies on his back and so does Tsukishima, pulling the blanket over their warm bodies.

Their shoulders aren’t touching but the heat between them has Kuroo buzzing. They’re quiet, lying side by side. Tsukishima breathes deeply and Kuroo notices their breath sync up. Nothing’s happening and Kuroo’s happy to fall asleep like this. Then Tsukishima’s finger brushes against his palm ever so slightly. It feels like lightning.

Kuroo stretches out his fingers, his skin seeking skin, inching imperceptibly until agonizing minutes later Tsukishima’s fingers are entangled with his. He’s never moved so slow that holding hands has him this satisfied.

Who knows how long later, when Kuroo’s on the edge of sleep, Tsukishima turns to his side. Kuroo lets himself be led by his hand, still held in Tsukishima’s. Kuroo doesn’t know if Tsukki’s awake or not, but he clutches Kuroo’s hand close to his chest, breathing deeply. Kuroo snuggles in, spooning behind Tsukishima’s warm body, nose pressed to the nape of his neck.

*

After his shift, Akaashi takes the bus bundled up in a scarf, staring out the window to avoid any eye contact as the bus bumps him closer to home. He turns the volume up on his headphones to stay awake in his tired state. He thanks the driver at his stop and is silently thankful it’s not snowing.

At home he hangs his messenger bag and molts, shedding scarf and so on in favour of a loose grey T-shirt and sweats. Yawning, he sits at his desk, pulling out a textbook to pour over even though his eyes are drooping as if under the weight of a waterfall. His desk lamp is bright, but not bright enough. He considers brewing coffee even though it’s late and there’s a low possibility he’s even physically able go to the kitchen.

He takes notes mechanically, relying on muscle memory, sloppily, unable to process the important parts through his brain before putting them un-paraphrased to the page. His head is dropping dangerously low to his desk when he hears the front door open and Bokuto call his name.

Akaashi blinks and it could be seconds or minutes later when Akaashi puts his hands on the back of Akaashi’s office chair and wheels him into the bathroom. Sometimes Bokuto is so sweet. He puts toothpaste on Akaashi’s toothbrush and hands it to him, chattering on pleasantly about his day. Akaashi doesn’t say anything, but Bokuto knows he’s listening. When Akaashi stands to wash his face, Bokuto sits in the chair and tries to spin around but the bathroom’s too small.

“I know you’re tired tonight but let’s play dress up again tomorrow!” Bokuto says.

“It’s dirty,” Akaashi says, patting his face dry.

“Yeah that’s what I like about it.” Akaashi looks at Bokuto in the bathroom mirror until realization dawns. “Oh! You meant the lingerie, yeah. It’s definitely dirty and not the fun kind. Can it go in the washing machine?”

“I’ll help you tomorrow, so please don’t put it in a regular cycle.”

“I love you.” Bokuto pulls Akaashi by the hips onto his lap and wheels them out of the bathroom with minor difficulty.

“I can walk, Bokuto-san.”

“Nope.” Bokuto squeezes his arms around Akaashi tighter. He resigns himself to their slow progress returning to his desk. “Hey, can we buy you something pretty, too?”

Akaashi hesitates. If he wants to use his employee discount, he’d have to get Kuroo to ring him up.

“Ask me again later?” Akaashi yawns.

“Okay.” Bokuto gathers up Akaashi in his arms and lifts. Somehow Akaashi feels small, even though Bokuto is only an inch taller. Bokuto’s breathing doesn’t change. He picks his boyfriend up like it’s nothing, holds him close to his heart, and gently sets him down on his side of their bed. “Movie time?”

“Mmm.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, fresh faced on his pillow as he listens to Bokuto put a movie on on his laptop. Once Bo stops moving, Akaashi settles into his spot under Bo’s arm, nestled on his chest. The movie plays quietly as Akaashi’s breathing lengthens, lulled to sleep by Bokuto rubbing small circles onto Akaashi’s back with his thumb.

Bo knows when Akaashi’s fallen asleep, soundly on his side twenty minutes into the movie.

*

Kuroo’s cellphone alarm chirps in the morning much too early. He reaches blindly, hoping to hit the snooze, but since he fell asleep on the wrong side of the bed, he overshoots his reach. Kuroo falls out of his bed, bringing the blanket down around him, alarm still going off.

He expects to hear some noise of complaint from a sleepy Tsukki, but there’s none. He silences his phone and looks up at his bed.

It’s empty.

“Tsukki?”

In the kitchen, Kenma is eating cereal, spoon in one hand, phone in the other. He’s playing some sort of game with cute sound effects, barely awake, barely keeping his head out of his cereal bowl.

“Is Tsukki here?”

Kenma looks up, his eyes flicking from Kuroo to the counter where Tsukishima is putting banana slices on peanut butter toast.

“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima says.

Kuroo just smiles.

_He stayed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! i did it!!! are you proud of me?? i fucking am! this chapter was the hardest to write! including the outline, what i scrapped, and this final edit it was like 7500 words! 
> 
> i knew in my heart how i wanted to tie up daisuga and bokuaka, but i wanted to leave kurotsukki open (bc i might have smth in mind for them in the future...) in the end, i really liked this soft landing! it turns out i'm a fluffy softy sometimes! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧
> 
> i'm on tumblr @babynerdburger if you want to say hi! thanks to everybody that's said hi already!!
> 
> y'all know i'm a slow fucking writer so it means A Lot To Me that i actually finished this! thank u all so much for the encouraging comments along the way! it really helped!! bye for now!!! see you soon! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و


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